


Too Long, Never Too Late

by XxTwistedEverAfterxX



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:26:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2694704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxTwistedEverAfterxX/pseuds/XxTwistedEverAfterxX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Too long Matt had watched man after man walk out of Matthew's life, leaving him heartbroken and torn to shreds. Too long Matt had held in his love for the other Canadian unrequited. Too long, but as he found his love once more on his doorstep, he knew it could never be too late. Love had always waited for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Long, Never Too Late

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirono](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kirono).



> This was my first Red Velvet Pancakes story~! I got inspired by Tumblr User Kirono's wonderful art, and was tempted to write out a little fic for her picture. It's just a little drabble, but hopefully you'll all like this! Smooch smooch!

Again.

There he was again, standing at his porch with that dejected look on his face, his whole posture sagging with the weight of the world as those accursed words fell from his lips for the millionth time.

"He left me."

There was an everlasting ache in that voice that grated past lips, dragging the syllables like a physical strain was being put on the shorter man to say them, and Matt suspected that there was something that made it harder with every failed relationship that passed for those words to be said.

"I begged him to stay," Matthew continued, violet eyes pitifully wet and tinged around the whites with redness from too many wiped dry tears, though Matt suspected it could also have been a joint to help the man speak so calmly. Either option was plausible, because the other became  _such a mess_  when he was dumped.

"He said…" There was a choke in the voice and Matthew lifted a trembling hand to cover his lips, to hide their tremble, to cover the downward twist that echoed pain, pain,  _pain_  and nothing but an aching despair. "He said he'd had enough," he whispered, voice trembling and his breath was sucked in over ridges that made it rattle deep in his throat as he held back the tears that Matt knew were desperate to fall, "So he packed my bags, threw them out, told me to fuck off and he drove off so he wouldn't have to listen to me beg for my key back."

The mental image it procured had the buffer Canadian gripping harder to the frame of the entrance doorway, looking down at the suitcase and four cotton bags that littered his front porch. The fight, the break up, the rejection, the mess it left behind; broken and alone. He could picture it oh so vividly and it ripped at his heart. Something little, something petty had started it, but it had been building because that ex was no good and Matt had known right from the start when he'd seen a large cigar hanging from the man's lips and a nasty to tight grip on Matthew's upper arm squeezing at the right moments to silence the blond. There had been shouting, no doubt, and Matthew had probably retaliated as snarky as ever because he was nobody's bitch who would take an insult lying down, not when he was truly mad or close to the person.

Something had triggered a snap, tossed on too much hay in the pile, poked in one too many needles, and the man had ended it.

Matthew's face had undeniably fallen, that twist that twitched at his upper lip when he snarled smoothing out, eyebrows losing tension and raising upwards towards the hairline of wavy fair blond locks, and beautiful Aurora Borealis violets had surely widened in shock. He could picture those precious soft pink lips forming the words ' _What?_ ' and ' _Why?_ ' but he knew that they wouldn't be enough,  _hadn't_  been enough, because they were hurriedly begging ' _Please, don't, we can work this out!_ '

It hadn't worked out. It never did.

Again, Matthew had had his bags packed for him and tossed out of the front door with uncaring hands, because the ex didn't mind whether or not they exploded and scattered clothes and personal belongings over the front lawn. Matthew had surely grasped at the man's forearm, pleaded, begged, choking out over and over that things would be okay, and that maybe they could talk this through.

" _That's probably when he got that bruise,"_  Matt thought idly, frowning as his dulled deep lavender hued eyes settled upon the darkening patch upon Matthew's left cheek, smudging the fair white skin in a nasty coloured blotch.

His partner had probably hit him to get him away, to put distance between them while he ran.

Keys had been snatched as Matthew recovered, as he picked himself up, clutching his face and blinking through tears as his hands scrambled to find his glasses which had fallen to the ground beneath him, but by the time he'd found them, the house was locked, and his ex was storming towards the car angrily. Desperately, Matthew had given chase, but the man had already sped off down the street by the time Matthew's faded runners had slapped the end of the driveway and then pounced to the bitumen.

"I'm sorry to trouble you like this," Matthew choked out, lowering his hand to rest above his heart instead, a bitter smile on his face, "I don't…" A rattly breath broke up the sentence. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

Matt nodded. He knew.

"Did you walk here?" he asked, voice gruff, deep, French-Canadian accent thick on his tongue and he hated speaking English because it was  _embarrassing_  how ugly he thought his voice sounded, even if Matthew liked it, and that was the only reason he didn't break into French, even when Matthew too was bilingual.

"Yeah."

There it was. That choke. The little break that cracked an octave and Matthew's smile was shaking on his mouth visibly now as his fingers curled into his white shirt, dirt smeared along one of the red sleeves.

It was disturbing, how graphic Matt's mind could be when it wanted to be. How it would show him Matthew—poor, sweet, heartbroken and shattered Matthew—trudging alone down the streets in his sneakers with his suitcase dragging behind him and four cotton bags tied to the handles and on his back and shoulders as he pulled the weights of his life and shredded heartstrings along with them. Blood was everywhere, not physically, but Matt could see it dripping from his dearest Matthew's heart, soaking his shirt and his fingers as he gripped it. He could see it as it dropped from his chest and beat… beat… beat… and just when Matthew was begging for it to stop and leave him at peace, it jumped right back into his chest to keep him alive and aching and kept right on bleeding and beating.

It was agonising to watch.

He hated it… He  _hated_  how it happened again and again and fucking  _again_.

Year after year, month by month, Matthew grew sadder, lonelier, more desperate than before and it  _terrified_  Matt who the next dirt bag lover or one week's bit of bad news would be when he was standing  _right there_  and  _so in love_  and  _so ready_.

It hurt.

"Chickadee," he began, looking from the heap of bags to the awfully tight grip of Matthew's hand on his shirt to the expression of a man so close to giving up it could have made Matt physically sick.

"You should've called me when he kicked you out. It's a twenty minute drive from here to there. Don't walk," he muttered, reaching up with a thumb calloused from hard labour and brushed the tear rolling down a pink flushed cheek before it could disturb more of the gorgeous face, "You can't stay with me after the next breakup."

Violet eyes looked up, surprised, hurt, but understanding.

"I won't let there be another breakup…"

Confusion sparked in Matthew's eyes, staring right back into Matt's own, and he flushed from his cheeks to the tips of his ears at the attention given by the shorter man, making his stubble of a beard stand out in the dark blond-dirty brown colour bristled atop of red.

"Stay with me… Be with  _me_. You can stay at my place for good," Matt spoke, clicking his jaw from side to side as Matthew looked up at him as though he'd sprouted the un-holiest of scriptures mid church. It was probably more because he was talking a lot, though the contents of his words were possibly equally as shocking. If there was a preference, Matt would keep quiet, listen to Matthew, simply smile with his eyes and the tiniest bit with his lips and give grunts to show he was listening and approved, and he loved how Matthew knew how to interpret the noises he made, but now was not a time for being bashful over his accent. Now was a time for words.

"I hate your exes because they woke up with you asleep at their sides. I hate your exes because you made them pancakes shaped like polar bears too and I know they didn't appreciate them. I hate your exes because they held your hands, kissed your lips, and got to smell your hair."

Matt winced at his words internally, though it made a small quirk tip up Matthew's lips, and it was enough because all he ever wanted to do was make the younger smile, laugh and fall in love.

"I love that kink in your hair on your right side that curls into itself like a heart. I love that your skin glows pink and red whenever you're angry, sad, happy, embarrassed, too hot or too cold or after exercise. I love the way your nose has a ski jump tip and crinkles when you're thinking really hard. I love that you're sweet as maple but can kick my ass if my team beats yours in hockey and I rub it in. I love that you're not a pushover but you're gentle like a bird. I love…"

A sound of frustration ripped from Matt's throat and he lifted his hand from his side to grasp hard at his own long hair, thick and messy and lacking its usual ponytail whilst his other hand gripped harder at the door frame.

Matthew was watching. Matthew was listening. Matthew was here and was in such a bad place and Matt was being  _so damn selfish_  trying to tell him all the things he loved and hated and secretly wanted.

"I hate how I had to learn better English to tell you this. I hate how you pretended not to speak French just to hear me talk. I hate how you go from man to man like you change your underwear. I hate the face you make before you cry because it rips my heart out and puts it in a blender. I hate…"

Deep lavender eyes shut, the dark circles beneath them crinkling with the force as he took in deep breaths, thick and dark lashes long and glistening with tears he refused to acknowledge and knew his brother would mock him for, flashing his cocky damn grin and pretending to be a viper as he flickered his tongue against the gap where his tooth was missing and  _taunted_.

"Kiss me."

A heavy atmosphere settled about them, and violet locked with deep lavender and they stared, both expressions pained, both needing, craving, but both afraid to make the first move.

"Tell me more… Matt, keep talking, please," Matthew begged softly, his hand lifting from his shirt, releasing the agonised grip it had held above his heart, "You never say anything, but I love listening to you, please. I need it. I need  _you_. Please, Matt, please."

As though commanded by the Gods themselves, Matt allowed his voice to keep flowing in that awkward way only the one he loved so much would accept and treasure, watching the slimmer hands reach out for his flannel shirt.

"I've always loved you. For years. Since the day I met you, I love you, Chickadee, and you're the only reason I stayed. I love you," he whispered, uncomfortable, but it made Matthew draw closer, so he continued, reaching out to place broad hands on the other's shoulders, "I'll love you like no one else can. I'll love you so much you'll never hurt again. I'm good for you, I promise. Give me a chance, I promise I won't be another one of your exes."

It was sappy, mushy, and Matt felt thickly out of character in the way he was allowing his tongue, lips and jaw to form words without his consent, falling out in a verbal diarrhoea he couldn't stop, even as he bent down, watching sneakers curve as Matthew eased himself onto his toes and leaned upwards, grasping to his flannel like he was trying to cling to something that wouldn't burn him but instead soothe his wounds.

"I'll never leave your side," Matt promised, heart pounding in his chest.

"I've waited so long for you, for this… this moment," he breathed, tears finally falling from his eyes and he let them as Matthew tilted his head ever so slightly for the angle.

"I'm so happy…  _So_  incredibly happy," he said through the faintest chokes of tears as Matthew parted his lips shaped so beautifully like a heart. They were so incredible, and Matt felt blessed that he got to see this sight, got to see it coming towards him,  _for him_.

"I love you, Matthew."

Their lips sealed softly as their eyes fell shut and they cried silently into the tender exchange—intimate, chaste, longing and throbbing with a long held ache all at once.

There was no rain or thunderstorm that day. There were no cliché screams that echoed into the night because Matthew had arrived during the day and he had no reason to wail in anguish at another broken heart that Matt would carefully try to piece together. There was no sudden appearance of an ex again that day, or the following, or even that month—never. It was like they were forgotten, or had forgotten, but to Matt, that was okay. No one else needed to help Matthew drag his dirtied bags off the front porch but him. No one else would appreciate the polar bear shaped pancakes Matthew would make as a thank you to eat whilst they curled up on the sofa together and let their differently sized and slightly hairy feet pinch and nudge and rub but him. No one else would hold Matthew to their chest and let him relieve that final cry that needed to be had without complaining but him.

That day and those that followed, Matthew needed no one but him.

Trinkets commemorated dates and events, and though Matt wasn't a sentimental man with objects, he admired the way that Matthew circled the ninth of September on the calendar with a red marker and scribbled bears instead of hearts with a tender smile that curled his lips and made his eyes soften because it was the first real smile that Matt had seen in a long time, confident it wouldn't be ripped away within a week or two or even a month.

"Chickadee."

Matthew's head lifted in response to his nickname he'd grown accustomed to hearing every day and every night for years now, called out in a voice so much more tender and heart warming than ever before, and he smiled widely in response, his face washed and clothes clean and smelling suspiciously like Matt's deodorant which only made the taller man tremble in possessive delight when the scent infiltrated his nostrils.

"I love you."

A laugh fell from Matthew's lips, cheeks pink as he sidled up to Matt's resting position on the couch, crawling up into his lap and gave a little Eskimo kiss that made them both smile.

"I know," he murmured in reply, leaning down slowly and letting his lashes flutter along his cheeks as his eyes closed, anticipating the millionth kiss to come, "I love you too, Matt."

 _I always have, and I always will_.


End file.
